Wednesday, November 13, 2013

The Arms Dealer

Category: Short Story

The Arms Dealer

Like I was telling my buddy Zeke the other night, “considering all the risks we take, you’d think the Buggers would be a little more generous.” Zeke’s an old friend and if you can’t gripe to your friends who can you gripe to? Besides, griping about money is the oldest gripe there is.

Zeke’s an arms dealer like me. I have no idea where he gets his stuff. Nobody in this business asks. It’s not considered good manners. Not that I’d believe him anyway. I get my stuff from my brother in law who gets it from a guy who gets it from a guy in the army. It’s first quality merchandise and the Buggers should be glad to get it. It’s all fresh and in grade-A condition. I don’t ask too many questions either. In this business sometimes the less you know the better. I just wait for the sign and pick up my shipment.

One thing I can say about the Buggers is how reliable they are. They never miss a rendezvous. I make the call and there they are waiting. Always the same Bugger too at least as far as I can tell. All of ‘em look alike to me but this one always says the same things in the same way.

“Do you have the arms?”

“I do,” I answer.

“Were you followed?”

“No. I was very careful.”

“How many?”

“Sixty pair,” I say or however many I have.

Then he counts the shipment. I watch, impassive as he handles the bloody things. Finally he counts out the bills and that is that. No thank you for risking so much or good job just a cool dismissal. Does he even realize how many laws I’ve broken? I’m tempted to ask what the hell he does with them. And why arms? Why not legs? Not that I expect an answer. Some things it’s better not to know.

Posted by tobiash on 11/13 at 10:21 AM | Permalink
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